The River Teith does much of the talking at Deanston. Water rushes through the old mill lade, slips beneath thick stone walls and hums through turbines that still feed the site with power. The distillery occupies a vast 18th-century cotton mill at Doune, a cathedral of brick and beam whose practical beauty makes marketing unnecessary. Inside, the air carries a clean cereal sweetness and a suggestion of beeswax, the sort of scent that settles on the tongue before a drop is poured.

The whisky story here begins in 1965, when the long-retired mill was converted to a modern distillery and the first spirit ran soon after. Deanston’s industrial bones gave it space, height and a reliable water supply, which in turn encouraged large, airy workrooms and steady, unfussy production. There were quiet years and a later revival, the place changing hands with the tides of the Scotch trade, yet the essential character remained: an engineer’s approach to flavour shaped by river power and good sense.

Clarity is built at the mash and carried through fermentation that favours fruit and a tidy, wax-edged weight. The stills are driven for a spirit that seems to polish orchard notes, honey and oatcake, often with orange peel and a faint lanolin sheen. Time in bourbon casks keeps things bright and biscuity, while occasional finishes add shading without smothering the house style. Deanston rarely shouts, it simply delivers a confident, textural Highland malt that feels both modern and rooted in its millwright past.